


Drabbles!

by Adry1412



Category: The Walking Dead (TV)
Genre: 17 year old drunk daryl, Abandoned infant, CFS, Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, Dancing, F/M, Good Brother Merle, M/M, Openly Gay and Confident Daryl, Supportive!Merle, Tumblr Prompt, Vampire!Daryl, Wedding, poor baby, prompt, savior!merle, underaged drinking
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-06-26
Updated: 2017-09-25
Packaged: 2018-04-06 07:26:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4213062
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Adry1412/pseuds/Adry1412
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>From hillbilly-with-a-heart-of-gold. "Two miserable people meet at a wedding".</p>
    </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> From hillbilly-with-a-heart-of-gold. "Two miserable people meet at a wedding".

Two hours after the wedding, Rick stands at the reception bar with some sugary drink in his hand. Not sure why he got it but it was bright blue and he was a sucker for brightly colored drinks.  
Everyone's already drunk or slowly working their way there. He had be honored to being Carol's friend and an honorable "maid of honor" although he wasn't sure why, considering his male parts and all. And he vaguely knew this Merle fellow but Carol had assured him he was 'the one'. Being in a coma might have put a damper on keeping up with your friend's love life but hey, he was happy to be there.  
Even if heaven knows he's miserable now. (Like Morrissey he thought and giggled to himself.)  
"What's so funny?"  
Rick turns to the baby blue eyes that he had admired standing next to Merle through the ceremony. "Ooh, it's nothing," he smirks. "Weddings just bring me down I guess."  
"Me too. Don't know why Merle decided on one but hey he seems happy." Daryl smirks while leaning on the bar and holding his head on the back of his hands, like a cherub if Rick was being honest. "I'm Daryl, by the way."  
"Rick. You're Merle's brother?"  
"Yeah. Who would've thought he'd actually be in a church let alone marrying in one." Daryl turns and smiles cutely and Rick feels his palms sweat some. "Wish there was better music."  
Rick laughs a bit cause he had wished for the same thing during the third ABBA song and fourth slow dance classic. "Don't we all." He pauses, "Wanna dance?"  
"Thought you'd never ask." A small smile plays on both their lips, maybe this wouldn't be too bad.


	2. Drunken Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl is 17 and gets shit faced! :D That's it folks. Merle helps him.

The first thing Merle noticed was the noise against the door and a nervous knock. The next thing he saw, when he opened the door, was Daryl's body slumping in and the skittish look on the kids he vaguely recognized as Daryl's "friends" from school. He doesn't remember screaming at them to leave or dragging the 17 year old's body inside but he does remember the look of pure blissful drunkenness on the teenagers face.   
His first question went over Daryl's head but the look of fear when the boys eyes focused was something Merle didn't ever want to remember. That and the distinct smell of vomit as Daryl shook and got sick all over the front of his shirt and pants.  
"Where did you go?" Merle questioned and brought a towel to attempt to clean his under aged brother's mess.  
"Please don't be mad." Merle could barely understand his slurring and rushed tongue.   
"How much did you drink?"  
Daryl sat silently, almost thinking. But Merle had to question his ability to think when he simply leans over and vomits again; this time thankfully in a small trash can Merle brought over.  
"I...I know your mad... I didn't mean too.. I swear! But..the drink tasted good and and.." Merle put his hand up to stop him from continuing.  
"How did you get out?" He hadn't seen Daryl leave through the front door or the back.  
"...wi-window."  
"Goddamn it, Daryl." He shakes his head. "Let's get you in the shower you need to sober up and fast before I go and kill those boys who got you this drunk."  
"No, Merle, I-I did it they didn't."  
"Stop. Get up."  
Merle would have thought the worst part of giving a very drunk Daryl a shower would be, you know, the shower. But that wasn't the case. Considering the boy had asked for a bath cause he couldn't stand up too long (or in his words, "Merle I'll slip and vomit and die...") and the fact that Daryl was now past the point of fun drunkenness and well into the 'emotional child' phase, as Merle calls it.  
And it honestly broke Merle's heart. He knew Daryl deserved to get horribly hungover and throw up so he'd learn not to do it again, but it pulled at his chest and made his eyes burn in that funny way when you try not to cry. Cause Daryl sat in the tub with his knees to his chest and he was sobbing, well and truly sobbing, mumbling words that Merle maybe got one or two of. Something about being a disappointment and how Merle hates him and how his friends got him the beer and how he just loved Merle so much and he felt so sick and his head was spinning and the bathroom was too bright.His heart hurt when he remembered being that age and getting roaring drunk and feel like shit immediately after.  
"Say that last part again?"  
"My-my stomach hurts......"  
"How much did you drink, Daryl? Do we need to go to the hospital?"  
"No-no... Trash can?"  
Merle brings him the can just as Daryl empties his stomach and Merle smells a very familiar yet traumatizing scent. He doesn't want Daryl to be suffering but he knows there's nothing he can do. So he washes Daryl's back and rinses his sweat soaked hair as the boy shakes and cries and mumbles apologizes over and over. He knows they have to wait it out and that in the morning Daryl will be swearing off booze forever and he will probably keep to that until the next big party happens and Merle has to do it all over again. He shakes his head with a sigh and thinks, "Kids..."  
When Daryl's well washed he's already dozing with Merle couldn't be happier about. He helps the boy into pajamas and brings him to his bed, careful to leave the trash can as close to the bed as possible.  
"Merle..please don't be mad.."  
"I ain't mad, I'm just incredibly disappointed.."  
"Oohnopleasedon'tbedisappointeditsomuchworseMerleplease.."  
"Daryl, Daryl slow down. It's ok. You're young, it's what kids do. I just didn't know my kid would do that, is all."  
"MerleI'msosorrypleasedontbemadiloveyousomuchplease.."  
"Daryl, calm down its ok." He strokes the boys hair and wipes his tears from his glassy, unfocused eyes. "We're just gonna have a long talk in the morning, is all. Nothing bad! You're not in trouble, though you should be. But I'm not gonna punish you.. I'll let the morning after do that for me." He smirks as Daryl looks at him with such pain and misery Merle almost wishes he won't get hungover and that he'll be fine. But he knows that not how it works. Daryl will be sick with the worse headache the poor boy's ever experienced and he will beg and pray for Merle never to let him drink again and Merle will soothe the hairs off his sweaty forehead, kiss his cheek, and close the blinds for him. He'll bring Daryl aspirin and water and some soup at noon and Daryl will vomit and vomit til he can't do anything but sleep. And of course, Merle will laugh and still feel that pain in his heart.

And boy was he right!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment if you like it! I love all of you omg. <3 thank u!


	3. Father and Son

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Merle isn't Daryl's birth father, but he'll be damned if he didn't do an alright job at raising his son.

Life has a funny way of taking everything you thought you knew and turning it on its head. It'll uproot your entire way of living and shove you in a different direction seemingly out of nowhere and for no good reason.  
But sometimes the reasons are easy to understand, other times it takes a while.

That's what's Merle thinks while he watches his son walk across the stage to receive his diploma, a bright smile shinning in Merle's direction. It's matched with his own, proud and wavering slightly with the tears in the corners of his eyes.  
He thinks back on everything that has led them to this moment, and specifically the faithful day that changes his life forever.

\---  
It's late, sometime close to midnight, when Merle steps out of the loud bar for a cigarette. It's cool out, fall pretending it's winter, and the street is illuminated by the full moon. He watches it a minute, letting smoke escape slow through his nose, and enjoys the silence. It's so quiet outside, the bar's loud music making his ears ring and he's grateful for the moment of peace.  
All of 18 years old and built like a fucking tank, Merle is a perfect example of a Dixon man, all muscle and hardly any tenderness. His face is that of a man's and nothing like the child his father still believes he is, but he doesn't care. He scoffs at the comments and knows he can just as quickly hold his own if his father decided to step up to him again. A short life of crime and numerous fights making him tough and one to be reckoned with.

He laughs, remembering the idiotic insults his father had admitted to throw at him, but it's cut off by a cry.  
He must be hallucinating, no goddamn way some broad brought their kid to the bar. He turns, trying to find out who had the wise idea of bringing a kid out this late at night, but there's no one around. Not a damn soul.  
Now, Merle may be a lot of things, but nosey usually isn't one of them. But this is different. So he stomps out his cigarette and wanders around to find the cause of the quiet crying.  
The alley between the bar and some random laundromat is dark, only light coming from a flickering, broken post above his head. There's a lone dumpster, graffitied to the point that hardly any original green paint shows from underneath, and Merle can't help but to laugh. No goddamn way some bitch left her kid outside while she got a few drinks.

He doesn't know what he expected, maybe a baby carrier or a stroller with a screaming toddler, but not this. Not a newborn, barely wrapped in a thin, light blue blanket. He stares at it, it's small stomach exposed and covered in blood from a slap dashed cut umbilical cord, a small tuff of brown hair on its head, face scrunched up and covered in wet streaks.  
It's so small, skin almost blue from the cold and tears streaming down its face and Merle is moving before he realizes. He picks it, him, up and cradles the baby, shushing him quietly. He searches the floor and the kid's arms. No note, no name tag, no nothing. He keeps crying and Merle doesn't think before stripping his jacket and wrapping it around the incredibly small baby. "Shh, shh, don't worry, Merle's got ya. I'll take ya somewhere safe ok? The police will know what to do with ya."  
It's crazy! And Merle would've laughed if his mind had been working normally. Never, ever, in a million years, would he be the person who, not only finds, but tries to calm an infant. It's cries start to slow and he opens his eyes, possibly for the first time Merle thinks, and stares up at its big, burly savior.  
When those bright, wide blue eyes match with his, Merle knows he's too far gone. He can't bring to kid the police, the dirty pigs would probably put him in some orphanage where who-knows-who will take him. He smiles at the baby, stroking soft cheeks with a much too large and rough finger.  
"Don't worry, sweetheart, Merle's got ya. I'll take care of you."  
The baby smiles, nothing but pink gums showing, and Merle smirked at the notion that some newborn might understand what he's saying. But that doesn't stop him from smiling back, honey sweet and honest, and hitching the kid further up onto his arm, closer to his chest.  
"That's right, you're my baby now and I'll take care of you, I promise."  
It yawns, the tiniest noise Merle swears he's ever heard squeaks out.  
"Need a name don't cha? I'm thinking Daryl. How's that sound?" He smiles, remembering once having read the meaning behind the name in some book his mother had. Sleepy eyes start to close and a tiny, pink tongue sticks out, making Merle chuckle. "You like that, huh? Daryl? Let's get outta here alright? You must be freezing."  
The bundle is pressed to his chest as Merle talks home, gentle shushes and words of affection slip onto the sleeping boy, a small proud smile stretched across Merle's lips.

\---  
18 years later Merle still wears that proud smile.  
It hadn't been easy, long nights working with Daryl asleep at home, every dollar and cent saved for an apartment, his father's scorn, money spent on clothes, food, toys, school materials. Kindergarten, elementary, middle, highschool, it had all gone by so quick, Daryl growing more and more everyday. He'd learned to walk and talk before Merle even noticed, crawling led to stumbling steps and too running around after his pseudo-father. Merle worked hard, night after night, sleeping during Daryl's naps and in the early mornings before his son woke.  
Every sleepless night, every penny saved, and every long evening going over homework had paid off. He let the tears fall, a wide smile hurting his face, and watches his son take the diploma from his principle's hand.  
He knows his blood may not run through Daryl's veins, but couldn't care less. Life dropped his boy into his arms and he's spent every moment since then thanking whatever God was listening for the life he had now. It may not have been planned, but Merle couldn't imagine it any other way.  
So when Daryl runs up to him, cap barely staying on his shaggy brown hair and eyes wide and bright, Merle can't help but to pull him into a tight embrace. "I'm so proud of you. I love you."  
"Thanks dad, I love you too."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I made myself cry :,)  
> Comments are always welcomed and appreciated!! Thank you!! I love you!!


	4. CFS

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Daryl has CFS (Chronic Fatigue Syndrome) and Merle takes care of him.  
> \---  
> Just a view into one of his bad days and how he reflects on everything Merle does for him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is sad and I'm so sorry. I've had this idea running back and forth all week so I decided to post it. <3

I don't remember the last time I got out of bed.  
It could have been hours ago, when Merle helped me into the tub, but that was actually days ago. It had been warm then, sun out and so bright that Merle pulled a towel over the little window so it wouldn't hurt me. It's raining now, I can't see it with the blinds shut, but I can hear it. Every raindrop echoing inside my skull and it sounds so loud I swear it's right next to my ear. I'd hate to bother Merle again, to ask him to turn on the noise maker. He's cooking I think, I can kind of smell the meat roasting and the soup brewing.  
I don't know how long I was asleep, it doesn't really matter. No amount of sleep helps. It's a deep kind of tired, a pure exhaustion that sinks into my bones and lingers for days, weeks sometimes. It hurts them, making every movement feel like my bones are grinding together. Merle says it's my joints, the inflammation making my muscles ache, but it seems so much deeper. I need the medicine again. I don't know when I took it last, or why, considering it only work for a few minutes.

I think I was sleeping when he came in.  
The constant fog breaks for a moment when he sits with me, a tender hand pushing the hair from my face. It's rough, callouses on his palms and fingertips, but he keeps his touch light, feather like, and it's soothing. I'd hate to open my eyes, never sure if there's light coming in from the hallway.  
I do it anyway, sighing in relief that Merle shut the door. He's too good to me honestly, always around and always there to help. He understands me, he doesn't call me lazy or weak or useless like others had, like the first few doctors implied.  
"I brought you some soup, Daryl. Do you wanna sit up?" His voice is so quiet, pitched low yet still whiskey raw like I remember.  
I can't sit up, not right now. Maybe tomorrow. Some days were worse than others, some days I could sit up and walk around for a while until the fatigue set in and I was forced to lay back down. Today though, I just can't. I know Merle blames himself, the short trip to the supermarket having brought on this particular episode. The bright lights and constant walking were too much, my joints feeling like they're on fire and my head feeling like it's in a vice grip.

I had felt alright then, walking freely around the house and even sitting up when I did take a break, lord knows my back feels that now. I had agreed to go with him, awake and aware enough to even smile and joke with him. I pushed myself too far, I know that now. My knees feel tight, like metal cuffs were being tightened around them. My back aches, each vertebra throbbing and the heavy feeling in my head doesn't help. It's always the same cycle; I feel alright, I push myself too hard, I crash. Four hours of movements, of light, cause me to to fall, and hard. My eyes are too sensitive, muscles aching and sore, head pounding and jaw muscles spazzing.

He sighs when I shake my head and I know he hates this. He hates when I'm too weak to move, hates when I can't hold down food, and hates that he can't do anything to fix it. He tries though, taking me to group therapy and getting me my prescriptions. He does his best to keep me positive and healthy but it's too much sometimes and he tries to understand.  
Sometimes I can see where he just doesn't understand. When the doctors had explained that no, the month long fever, fatigue, and nausea were not a long cold but something else entirely. He doesn't understand why, during some of my few bad episodes, I hadn't called out when I got sick all over myself and the bed, didn't understand that I couldn't even though I wanted too. He doesn't understand how a normal morning and short trip to the market had made me sick in the parking lot and had me shaking the whole way home. He just doesn't understand how this fucking illness is not day to day, but minute to minute, second to second and I wish I could control it.  
He tries to understand how stressful it is, the constant worry in my deep and nagging thoughts piercing through the confused fog. He tries to understand what the doctors mean when they say that stress is the keep factor in, not only treatment, but in the disease's DNA. He tries to understand the depression, the horrible thoughts that keep me awake when I can't tell wether or not it's day or night. He gets me the pills, making sure I take them when I need too and keeps track of their effects, trying to figure out which help more than others and with make me ill. It's hard for him to understand and though I try to explain, I know he'll never truly know what is happening.  
But he does understand one thing, and that's how much I love him.  
I wouldn't be alive if it wasn't for him and he knows how grateful I am. He understands that, though invisible, this disease is serious and that I love everything he does for me. He understands that, although I'm sick, every moment I spend with him is wonderful and I wouldn't trade it for the world.

So when he slides his gentle hand under my head, and lifts me to place another pillow, I let him. I let him prop me up and open my mouth for the soup. It's just for the broth, he understands I can't chew right now and he spoons me small sips. I let him rub his hand on my throat and help me swallow and I let him wipe my mouth when it drips.  
I want to have a normal life, where I can go out every day and not worry about the constant pain and long periods where I crash. I want to go to the coffee shop and not worry about my sensitive mouth or the possibility of vomiting even before I get the first sip down. I want to hold a conversation with someone and not blank out half way through when I forget what I was saying or thinking.  
I know it won't happen. I know I'll just get worse and worse until I either becomes completely immobilize or my organs fail and I die. I wonder if that'd be best if I just end it; take a razor to my wrist or swallow as many pills as possible.  
Merle shushes me and wipes my wet eyes. I hadn't even noticed I was crying or that my breathing was becoming erratic. Merle's getting my medicine ready, a palmful of tablets taken with my main meals, and an inhaler for my asthma. Just my luck, huh? CFS and asthma?  
I laugh a little and Merle smiles, eyes bright with hope for a possible recovery, even for a few hours. He kisses my forehead and I try to whisper a thank you. He shushes me, holds my hand and blows on the soup to cool it, and I'm so grateful. I pray that soon I'll be able to sit up again and talk to him, eat a proper meal and cuddle up on the couch. Until then, I let him look after me and I force a smile just so that I can see his in response.


	5. Vampires

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey!! I've been working on this on and off for the last few....months, yikes. Welp!  
> This may turn into more, possibly more drabbles and possibly into rickyl drabbles but form now, enjoy lol!

He hasn't gone outside in years. At least, not during the day.

Years spent in the darkness of the forest side cabin haven't been easy, windows covered under heavy curtains and most light bulbs having been removed. The whirling buzzing of the false lights causing migraines that tormented the youngest Dixon and had ended with the bulbs taken and shattered, swept under the front porch and away from pale blue eyes.  
Merle doesn't remember much of his life before. Before his afternoon sitcom reruns were replaced with a small TV box, placed on his nightstand with the volume muted and image staticky, and only watched in the lonesome night times. He doesn't remember how the cabin looked when the sunlight creeped in on summer mornings and covered every inch in a sense of peacefulness.

He does remember when it started.  
When Daryl had been thrown from the moving car in the middle of the night, neck bleeding and eyes unfocused. Merle had heard the screeching tires and ran outside in nothing but a robe to protect him from the icy chill. Daryl had been pale, so white his skin seemed translucent. He had stuttered, trying to keep a hand closed over his throat. "N-not..human."  
A date gone wrong was what Merle assumed. A sick man who had taken advantage of Daryl and dumped him off after hurting his baby brother. The shameful feeling had dropped his stomach and Merle carried Daryl inside, cleaning and caring for the younger Dixon. Blood wiped away revealed two small puncture wounds and Merle had been nervous of their meaning.

Urban legends were just that..legends. No fact to back them up other than hear say. It wasn't possible for a human to live after death and crave blood. Of course he had heard stories, from his relatives and family friends, but it was just silly tales. Something to put fear into your kid's mind so they wouldn't stay out past dark and to go to bed on time. There wasn't any truth behind ancient lures of vampires.  
But as Daryl heartbeat slowed on that night, his skin becoming paler and paler and chest movements become scarce, Merle feared. When dawn broke and night faded away, taking Daryl's vitals with it, Merle has let the first few tears fall. His brother had laid in bed, no signs of life and Merle has weeped, scared shitless of what had happened and what would happen.

But it didn't work like that. Day brought Daryl's eyes open and every old tale drove ice down Merle's spine.

Merle shivers when he remembers the following days. The uncertainty and nervousness that tracked both Dixon's every move. The hunger that drove Daryl into a frenzy and was only soothed when he slit the freshly hunted deer's neck open and drank. Merle had been repulsed, vomiting onto his shoes as he watched his brother feed in their dingy basement. The swaying of the lone light bulb adding to the sickly paleness of Daryl's skin and bright red of the blood.  
"I'm sorry, Merle..."  
Of course, he had forgiven Daryl. And as the days turned to weeks and their routine became more grounded, Merle had learned to live with it.

Windows were covered in thick shades, any sliver light proving dangerous to Daryl's sensitive skin. Light bulbs removed and smashed, hiding under the porch with skeletal remains of various animals. The tv had been taken to Merle's room, away from the greying eyes of his baby brother.  
Daryl only went out at night. A small creek of the door and leaves shifting just outside was all Merle needed to know his brother had left. He doesn't follow anymore, the hairs on his neck standing up as he remembers what he had seen when he once did. When Daryl's skin glowed in the moonlight, much too bright in its dark surroundings as he stalked for prey. A late night snack of rabbits, squirrels, and possums were what Daryl caught, bare handed and dangerous as he rips their throats open and drank. Shirt stained and mouth dripping, he would continue until the night became ink black and he would return home before the sun would peak it's head above the hills.

So Merle sits on his bed, watching a sitcom re-run and waiting for his brother to return. It's midnight now, only 5 hours until sunrise. He stays up, making sure Daryl doesn't stay out too long.  
A few times Daryl had miscalculated, hellbent on drinking as much as possible and forgetting the dangers of the sun. He had banged on the door, skin welting in the dawn's early rays and Merle had held him. Fever and nausea had plagued his brother as Merle dabbed cream onto Daryl's skin, praying it wasn't too bad and that Daryl would be okay. His pale skin screamed with heat and Merle had cried quietly when Daryl trembled, sore and aching with nothing but red, hot skin to show for his mistake.

\---  
He gulps when the footsteps sound through the backyard, shutting the tv off and waiting to hear the tell tale signs of his baby brother re-entering the house. The doors shutting quietly and old wooden floors creaking under the weight of milky feet. The screen door creaks, near silent footsteps coming towards his room before a pale hand pushes it open.  
Daryl's hardly recognizable now. His once bouncy brown hair now lays limp and almost black just past his jaw line and those once bright blue eyes that sparkles in the sun now fall flat and grey. No life behind them, no emotion. They're still striking, standing stark against the blackened bags that line them. His clothes is stained, the bright red of fresh blood being the only color on his thin frame. The only sign of life being that of the freshly death.  
It's not his baby brother anymore, no. His brother left when his heart stop. The man who stands before him now is a monster, pale and cold to the touch.

Merle swallows the lump in his throat. How can he call this man a monster when he wears his baby brother's face like a morbid, heartbreaking mask?  
"Is everything ok?"  
Daryl shrugs, eyes downcast and distant. "Just wanted to see you is all." He bites his lip and Merle's breath hitches when the sharpened canines scrape against his blue lip, cutting the flesh but drawing no blood. "I miss you, Merle."

The feeling is back, that warmth in his chest when he remembers the days before. When Daryl was younger and clinged to his big brother like a lifeline, his tiny body huddled impossibly close and lanky arms pulling Merle in hugs every time he saw him. Daryl was so affectionate back then. Every ounce of him held nothing but sweetness and love for his older sibling. "Why don't you come lay with me?" He moves the blankets over, leaving a bare space for Daryl to rest on, to crawl in with him.  
When Daryl nods, Merle almost regrets it. The blood on his shirt will surely stain his bed. But when his younger brother removes the dirty shirt, pulling on another one that laid on the floor, Merle could help but smile. It fit wrong, too big for his tiny frame and it reminds him on when his brother would wear his clothes as child. When Merle's tee shirts were dresses on the boy, nothing but bare feet sticking out at the bottom, he used to laugh. Especially when his baby brother dropped his voice, pretending he was Merle and talking about "taxes and groceries". 

And when Daryl slides into Merle's bed, his frigid face pressed to his broad chest...it feels right. When his pale arms wrap around his big brother's midsection, Merle let's out a pleased sigh. He's not a monster. He's not a monster.  
"The tv is buzzing, Merle."

"I'll unplug it."

"Thank you."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please comment and tell me what you think!! Love ya!!!


	6. Goddammit Daryl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiny Drabble that I wrote way too quickly but I got this idea last night and I couldn't stop laughing.  
> Prison era, Shane lives, Merle is a good brother, and Daryl is very open with his sexuality even if his brother is sick and tired of his comments.

"Mm, goddamn."

Merle quirked an eyebrow at his brother as they sat outside of the prison. The day was bright and the sun was warm but not so stifling as the previous days where every a moment outdoors made your skin crawl and sweat roll down your back. They were perched on a shaded picnic table and watching as the men of the prison played football in the grass, all of them enjoying the gorgeous day in the early autumn weather.

Merle had huffed when Rick and Shane started throwing the pig skin, hating how his lack of a damn hand was keeping him back from playing with them. Man, he missed football Sundays.  
People meandered around on the lazy day, Glenn and Tyreese having joined in the game and others slowly trickling in. Some watched and Merle was grateful Daryl had sat next to him to keep his company. His brother sat with his legs crossed and leaning back on his hands and apparently admiring the view. And god, as if the comments and lip licking from his brother weren't enough, the men had slowly begun taking their shirts off, leaving them in nothing but sweaty chests and damp hair. 

Merle knew of his brother's orientation, knew long before Daryl had had the words to explain it himself and he had made peace with that part of his baby brother. It wasn't easy in the old world, with their bigoted father and close minded community but they made it work. Although he wished it could've been different, Daryl hid that part of himself and Merle protected him if someone decided to get smart and say shit.  
Merle accepted his brother and he was almost honored that Daryl felt comfortable enough around him to make off handed comments. Though it did make him blush a bit, he was slowly getting used to his brother's new found confidence and the things he said. Even if it seemed most times they were to get a rise out of the older Dixon.

"Goddammit, Daryl. Can ya stop?"

Daryl had just smirked and fuck if Merle didn't see that infamous and mischievous twinkle in his baby brother's eyes. "Stop what? Just admiring the view." He turned to the group, raising his voice to cheer them on. "Alright! Good sack, Shane! Come on, defense!!"

"Dammit, Daryl! It just sounds filthy coming out your mouth." Merle watched Shane stand and wave at Daryl, a wide grin as he helped Rick (who was apparently quarter back opposite his old police partner) back up after a particularly hard tackle.

"What? It was a good sack! Shane's a damn fine quarter back."

Merle scrubbed his face with his good hand. God, Daryl could just get under his damn skin sometimes. If hadn't grown up with, and damn near raised the boy, he would've put him through a goddamn wall. "Can't you just be a little less gay?"

Daryl stared at Merle and the older brother waited to hear what his kid brother could possibly say. Instead Daryl just grinned and shook his head. "Nah, sorry bro. Just how I is."

Merle sighed and pinched his nose. No use fighting. Daryl was Daryl and he was something else. Damn boy was too sassy for his own good and Merle was almost proud of that. Least the boy could hold his own and that was all he could ask for with the world they lived in now. So he shook his head as well, smirking, "Dammit, Daryl."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please lemme know what you think! I know it's crack but I thought it was funny haha! Thank you love you!


End file.
